


The End

by Bellator



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Armitage Hux Needs A Hug, Bottom Armitage Hux, Emotional Constipation, Heavy Angst, Kylo Ren Backstory, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Requited Unrequited Love, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-30 22:13:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19412449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellator/pseuds/Bellator
Summary: Kylo Ren knows that one day he'll have to let the General go. A man cannot wait forever.





	The End

**Author's Note:**

> So, I was really feeling the angst last night and decided to write this. Emotionally constipated Kylo and smitten Hux is just, hmm, the flavor...

Some day he’ll say “no”, resolute and solemn. He’ll reject you, and your outstretched hands will fall to your sides, clenching in fists. The urge to summon the Force will be as strong as the sting of humiliation. You’ll want to make him crumble to the floor, crush his lungs, look at you with desperation, begging for mercy. But you‘ll do nothing, you’ll simply scoff and order him to leave. He’ll listen, and the agility with which he’ll obey you is almost upsetting. A bitter taste settles in your tongue, your chest feels hollow, aching. One day, he’ll tire of your violence, your frigid indifference, your tyrannic selfishness. 

You’re reminded of this every time you savour his sweet moans, his lustful gasps, for each time you taste his skin, the acrid flavour of disgrace mars your mouth. You’re Kylo Ren, descendent of Darth Vader. Tragedy is a hereditary trait, and yet, there’s a part of you who seeks to change fate. But there are no happy endings for you. You sought the Dark because you lacked love, because Ben Solo was betrayed by his very own blood. In a way, Kylo Ren is much needier than him, he was born of pure emotion. Born searching for peace, for acceptance. Sometimes you find some comfort. In the screams of enemies, in the fresh blood they spill onto your clothes, the sick sizzle of their meat. Though, more often than not, it’s in the tight heat of the General. His trembling thighs tight about your waist, his dulled nails scraping your back, his weak sobs when you hit his spot. Just thinking about him gets you hard. 

If only both of you hadn’t been born into this political warfare, you could’ve been lovers, spent the rest of your lives nurturing each other, building a home, a family. Hux could’ve been an engineer, or maybe a professor, considering his wicked smarts. When he came back home from a long day of work you would be there, waiting for him. You’d capture his plush lips in a sweet kiss, then ask how his day was. He’d tiredly respond with a curt recollection of his shift and you’d listen a little absentmindedly as you plate dinner. Later that night you’d pin him down on his stomach and fuck him so throughly he’d come all over the sheets, sobbing. There would be tears in his lovely grey eyes, and you would gently wipe them away, kiss his ruddy cheeks. ”I love you,” would fall so easily out of your lips. 

You let out a delirious laugh, snapping out of your fantasy. Domesticity didn’t suit either of you. You both belonged in the battlefield, ordering faceless soldiers to their death, conquering systems, domineering entire galaxies. And not settling down into a mellow and pathetic life. It’d be too boring, too tame. For some reason, your chest feels uncomfortably tight at the prospect of seeing those rosy lips stretched in a smile everyday. 

It doesn’t matter, you could never have it. 

For now, you have Armitage Hux, the general, the cold blooded father of Starkiller. Even as you bruise his skin and break his bones he lets you have him, you know why, and it makes you pained, sometimes, it makes you seethe with rage. But it won’t last for long, because one day he’ll muster the courage to push you back, he’ll acknowledge he deserves more, that living with a broken heart is a life too cruel, even for him. One day will be your last with him in your bed, saying your name like a prayer. One day, he’ll say “no”, and your heart will harden and moulder. Only war will set aflame your spirit, only blood will tinge your sallow cheeks. And only then, Ben Solo will truly be killed.


End file.
